Southern Traditions: How Biscuits & Gravy Were Ruined Forever
I was never really a gravy kind of girl.
I vaguely remember my mom making it as a side product of fried chicken as a child (also note: I do not remember the last time my mom made fried chicken NOR have I ever actually tried- please don’t take away my Southern Belle card now).
For whatever reason, I refused to touch the stuff – much in the same way that any child refuses to touch something they deem unworthy a.k.a. “GROSS” for no reasonable conclusion at all.
And because of that, I just never really had it as an adult.
The first time I really ate gravy was at my friends Robert and Mariana’s house.
They really are more than just friends, they are my adopted family.
One time when I was there, most likely hung over from being there the night before, Robert made biscuits and gravy.
This wasn’t some flimsy, white, watered substance. It was good. Damn good. With bits of ground meat and other goodness that I could not readily identify but were savory and yummy and I KNEW MY LIFE WAS CHANGED.
But I didn’t know how much.
I’ve tried biscuits and gravy at every place since I run across that offers them.
No one can match what Robert makes.
And so, biscuits and gravy are ruined once again, a true la douleur exquise.
If you are ever invited over to their house, do not turn this delicacy away.
In the meantime, you can have some of Robert’s Mama Honey’s Hiney Rub to take some of his kitchen home with you.
Love to all y’all,
Molly
